Oh Snap! (or, Ode to a Small, Winged, Plastic Horse)
by literalspoon
Summary: When you break fate, why must you break me? (For the YGO FF Contest, R3. AU in which Yugi has the Millennium Ring, so as per Season Zero logic, he puts the souls of his defeated opponents into miniatures.)


.

 _snap_

This is how it

started: The world ended–

with not a challenge, but a gilded gift–

Victory, handed to Yuugi on a golden platter–

Fitting, since the Ring was big enough to be eaten off–

As a doting grandfather joked, hanging it about dear Yugi's neck–

So the pharaoh was shunned, the thief stole souls, and it all went to hell–

 _– a fate sealed._

* * *

"Penalty Game... "

You can taste the capitals, arrogant and dangerous. They wound and rend, because you _lost_ , despite your victory being so very guaranteed. You never expected such a good boy as Yugi Muto to counter–cheat, but then again, lives were on the line; maybe you should have expected him to get desperate. Your cards are lying face–up on the table, your beloved Toon monsters as good as corpses, and your hand rests upon your deck. Your pride had decided that you'd much rather surrender than let him beat you unconscious with the sheer pain of the Shadow Game, but you're starting to have doubts.

Your opponent pauses – but it's no hesitation, as your Millennium Eye unhelpfully informs you. The spirit of the ring has sensed your doubt, through mere intuition, and he's now waiting for that to become fear. Now he no longer needs to shield his thoughts from you, they've been made as clear as a brand–new window. He _craves_ your unrest, your shock, your anxiety; he wants to guzzle it down like a cool beverage in the Californian heat, before he stuffs your screaming soul into a miniature.

You mustn't give him what he wants, screams your pride. But knowing what he's thinking is such a horrible curse, or at least a thoroughly unhelpful power at times. His inner monologue's crashing into your head, so dreadful and dark, and before you know it, he's shaken you to the core. You're _afraid_ , and for a fleeting second you show it, shiver – that's all he needs. His mind shifts tactics in a heartbeat. He is satisfied now, ready to toss you aside like he's done to so many others. White teeth flash under the bright stage lights, and in his head rests your dreadful, dreadful fate.

 _"...Soul Seal!"_

The exclamation mark's like a gunshot: It rings in the still air, it _rips_ into your frail body, it's gone with a mere ghost of an echo. And just as though he's really shot you, a gaping hole is left in the wake of his words. Thankfully for your esteemed audience, it's not visible – more a tear in your soul _–_ but there's still a pain so great that it crosses a line into agonising numbness, and no matter how hard you try to set your jaw, clench your teeth, you scream anyway. Your very spirit's draining from your body, dripping and pooling on the floor–

The thief reaches over the table, and rips the Millennium Item from your eye socket. Your blood follows your soul, and the viewer's ratings are as lost a cause as your consciousness.

* * *

With a sickening _pop_ , your world ends.

I wake up, scared and trembling. I toss and turn for hours, but... Well, I just watched you _die_ , felt something through my own Millennium Item, something raw and fierce and screaming. I don't sleep, now it's gotten hold of my heart. I don't want to know what happened to you next, if there even was a next.

The next night brings little reprieve. As jet–lagged as I am, having flown to Domino City (for reasons I quickly tell myself have everything to do with the Battle City tournament and nothing _else_ ), the future my Tauk has foretold for you stretches infinitely, because you are eternally doomed. This horrible night, I learn that so long as the sun's up and the Ring spirit wants nothing from you, you sit on a dusty shelf, a lifeless miniature – though as you're perpetually standing, maybe 'standing' isn't the best choice of words. Either way, you're still living forever, a doomed soul, trapped forever in a mess of cracked plastic and peeling paint.

I try to be annoyed with the repeated visions, try to pretend that the way I shake beneath the covers is pure, undiluted rage. I _shouldn't_ be so afraid for your wellbeing. You're a moron who played a dangerous game until it killed him, tore his mind from his body, and his blood spilled all over the ratings sign in the bottom right corner. You committed repeated sacrilegious acts – as though invading the Tombkeeper's domain wasn't enough, you dared take ancient, sacred carvings, and having stylized the _ka_ into next week, you sold them to children en masse. I hate you, he who has terrorized my sleep for nights on end, he who embodies everything wrong with this dumb generation. You are nothing but a petty money–maker, and every time I think of the hole you left when you took the Millennium Eye for yourself, my stomach churns.

And somehow, you're my _dearest, dearest pegasus._

Perhaps it's because you have changed since robbing a sacred place, since creating Duel Monsters – and in the time I've known your poor, tortured soul, you've certainly changed for the better. For at least a year, perhaps longer, you were surrounded by fools who could barely hold a card right, many of them thugs. It's affected you, and you cannot lie, because I've seen the beatings, felt them in the worst of my nightmares. You're no longer living in _your_ world, not the one that's all about you, where you could make people dance to your every tune, where 'pain' was to you some quaint thing that required the use of a wailing choir and several postmodern dancers. You've had to adapt, learn to placate tempers with a silver tongue and gentle words, and it's been a road paved with painful errors.

Or maybe I care for you merely because I've heard your tortured voice for so long, felt how you've changed now that you no longer have your world, surrounded by thugs who can barely enunciate. But I want to pick you up, take you home to Egypt, and tell you that your tragic life may yet have a happy ending. I want to tell you that your story may not end with the destruction of your precious Toon monsters, and more than anything else, I want to tell you that there is a way to rescue your soul from its prison, or at least that I will search forever for that way. My heart aches with every vision, and I find myself hesitating outside Yugi's door, wanting to somehow change your wretched fate.

It's stupid to want that. A fate cannot be changed, especially not one chosen by my Millennium Tauk. The thief has won every battle thus far, and the pharaoh has been shunned. Who am I to think that such darkness can be _defeated_ , that my prophecies might allow for _exception?_ He has moved on, and you have been left behind, your spirit broken, trapped eternally in a world that will soon be set alight, when Ra is wrested from my brother's hands and placed into those of the thief.

When that time comes, I will be incinerated, ash on the wind, but you will not enjoy such a quick death. Your plastic will melt, oh–so–slowly, your hooves will merge with your chest, the air will reek of petroleum, you will scream and howl for it to be over, but it'll take an age, a painful eternity within your eternal prison.

And when the hellfire purges your soul from the miniature, you'll experience a pain even worse than what I foresaw yesterday. I have seen it, a sight that left me sobbing. You try to escape one night, try to claw back your long–dead world. But lead wings aren't very good for flying, and skinny, stylized legs buckle all too easily. Your first and final attempt was, overall, doomed from the start; you made it to the door, but the sun rose and he found you, frozen under that terrible, terrible dawn–

"Do I know you?"

–it is my turn to freeze. I did not knock; he threw the door wide, and now he stares. I look upon the one who has done so many terrible things to you, and will do so many more, and I cannot keep the fear out of my expression, my vision blurring. I stammer before I speak, take a step back, and it's so hard to recover – but for you, I'll try my best.

" I would like to see your miniature collection, please."

I will change fate. I will snatch you up, and take you far away from harm. You might think it caring, but I can't admit that yet – no, I will never admit it. I'll just say it's weakness, as much as the lie sears and burns. I'll do anything, _anything,_ to stop these visions, stop you from screaming in my head every night.

The demon smiles.

"Oh, those?"

I blink, the world clears, and coolness trickles down my cheeks. More importantly, he's holding out a tiny, winged horse. I know this is you – I can feel your soul, _so_ very close. I do not dare think for a moment that I might be able to help you, but I care for you so much, even though I shouldn't. With your raw emotions in my mind every single night, it's become hard not to care about you, however damned your soul ought to be.

I reach out for you.

"Y–yes. I am... very interested. In purchasing it."

"How much?"

I take a shuddering breath.

"No price too low."

"Then I'll take your heart", he whispers

and tears off each dainty leg

one by screaming

 _snapping_

one.


End file.
